In a word (MCU Style)
by mtfrosty
Summary: My first foray into Marvel territory. A collection of drabbles covering the original six Avengers based on prompts that come to mind or that readers leave in a review. May be a bit Tony-heavy since he's my favorite, but I'll do my best to remain true to the rest. Enjoy! (no definitive update schedule) Rating allows for flexibility (no mature/sexual content, some dark themes)
1. Draw

**_Captain Steve Rogers_**

He sketches a before and after self-portrait. It's as good as the rest of them, full of every detail that life has to offer. The details have details and even then he feels the need to scrap it and start over at least twice so that he can just _get it right_.

Because Steve needs to see it himself. What everyone else sees. Why the kid he was before needed a super serum to turn him into a hero. To turn him into someone who could actually do something that counted. When he's finished, all he sees is a kid that turned into a man far too quickly. Well… physically, at least. He did get some muscles out of the deal.

Other than that, he didn't change much, but when he looks at this sketched version of his two selves, he can see why everyone else misses that little detail. Some things just can't be drawn.

They don't see him. Not here. Not in this era.

Then he wakes up decades later and finds himself surrounded by other "superheroes". Turns out, he doesn't stand out because of his stature anymore.

"And for gosh sakes," Stark begs (teases) him. "Watch your _language._ "

He just shakes his head with a small smile. Yes. They see him now.

* * *

 ** _Clint Barton_**

"And this," he says slowly, "is you." He flicks the pencil, quickly adding five tiny lines for hair and a lopsided smile. The recently completed stick boy smiles down from the top of a hastily drawn house. "Up where you aren't supposed to be, but don't tell mom."

Cooper shoots his father a gap-toothed grin and giggles a little. "I won't tell!"

Clint takes the grin and stores it away. Back in a brightly-lit corner of his mind that he turns to when things get bad. Laura and Lila are there too. They've kept him alive more times than he's given them credit for. "Good. Maybe you can help me fix the roof when I get back."

His boy's smile disappears. "How long will you be gone this time?"

"I don't know, kiddo," he sighs, dropping the pencil. He raises his hand to run it through Cooper's hair. "I don't know."

Cooper looks back at their piece of art and picks up a green crayon. "We forgot Lila."

He hums in agreement. "We did. And mom. They should be here." He points to a blank spot at the side of the house.

The grin returns, but this time it's lopsided. A more mischievous version of the one in the drawing. "Yeah. Yelling at us."

"At _you_ ," Clint clarifies. "You're the one on the roof by yourself."

"Cuz they're scared. They're yelling at you cuz they're mad."

Clint purses his lips. "Whatever."

* * *

 ** _Natasha Romanoff_**

She carries a small sketchpad with her on every mission. Clint's idea, not hers. _"I can't draw,"_ she remembers telling him.

" _Sure you can. You just suck at it."_

" _Exactly."_

He made her do it anyway, so she still has it. Tucked away in a slim back pocket at all times. The one she has right now is her eighth. The other seven are tucked away in her suite at Stark (Avengers) Tower. Clint's the only one who's seen them.

Until now.

"Nat?"

He'd caught her looking at it. Remembering. It's the first time they've seen each other since the whole Ultron thing and she'd stupidly forgotten he was there. Natasha sighs, resigned and yet surprisingly relieved. Maybe having another person to share her thoughts with is a good thing, even if she hadn't invited him.

Or had she? She's not the type to just forget about people who are in the same room as her.

So she turns and smiles softly at Bruce. The poor man looks awkwardly (endearingly) lost as he stands just inside of her door scratching the back of his head. She still hasn't forgiven him for just up and leaving without so much as a real goodbye, but it _is_ good to see him again. "Here, let me show you some horrible drawings."

He smiles too. That goofy _genuine_ smile that he can't seem to ever hide. "Horrible?"

"Yes, and don't you try to say otherwise."

He takes them and begins to flip through them and she can tell he's trying not to laugh. The idiot never has been good at hiding _anything._ "So. You drew all of these? Why? You don't exactly seem the type…"

She's studying him, looking for any sign of mockery even though she knows she won't find any. "To remember. It was Clint's idea. Every mission, both of us draw a terrible drawing of something we find beautiful. To remind ourselves that the world isn't as bad as we usually think it is. Cheesy, yes. But… helpful."

Bruce looks serious when he sits next to her. He flips back a few pages and points. "Is this supposed to be me?"

Natasha studies the gorilla-armed humanoid surrounded by pointy, misshapen trees and smirks. "I think so. Back on Sokovia. It was the last time I saw you."

"The Hulk isn't beautiful."

"Well my drawing doesn't do you justice does it?"

"Nat…"

"Just shut up, Bruce."

He sighs, huffing out a tired laugh. "Okay."

* * *

 ** _Thor Odinson_**

He used to do this with Loki. Sit in the gardens and gaze at the rest of the universe while his younger brother pointed out various constellations and the places where other realms were located. The other man would talk for _hours_ about the way their planets and galaxies were all connected, how the slightest alteration would leave everything off-kilter and… messed up. Thor can't remember the word Loki had used, but that had been the meaning of it.

If it had been anyone else, he would have been bored within minutes. Coming from Loki, though, it was akin to listening to a lore master recount tales of glorious battles. Poetic, romantic, and full of meaning. Full of _life_. His brother could make the constructs of the physical realms sound _important._ No matter that Loki's passions had been misplaced and unfit for an Asgardian prince. Thor had to admit that Loki had been brilliant.

 _Is_ brilliant. Now there's just a touch of madness there too.

It makes him sad.

But his Lady Jane is brilliant in a similar way and the way she smiles warms his millennia-old, battle weary heart. Her science is gibberish to him, but Thor can at least pass on what Loki used to show him from an entirely different time and place.

"Draw it for me again?" she asks, dark eyes glinting with firelight. It's their tradition now. Whenever they can see each other, they build a fire the first night and stare at the stars. Thor finds it romantic, but he knows Jane only finds it academically worthwhile.

But she still always asks for the picture. He always smiles when she does, because that _is_ romantic.

"Why do you need me to draw it?" he teases.

Jane smirks. "I don't, but it makes you feel like you've contributed something."

Thor booms out a laugh. "I suppose it does! Very well, my lady, I shall draw the Tree for you once more."

Jane's smirk turns into a gentle smile. "Thank you." A pause. "Tell me a story. Something new."

Thor stops drawing to look at her. "About?"

She tilts her head. "Your mother. Frigga."

"Jane…" He sighs, looking away. Back at the drawing. Anywhere but at her pleading, pitying eyes. "It's too soon."

"You tell me stories of your brother. Why is your mother so different?"

Thor isn't sure. Not in this moment. Not when they've been talking about science and stars and the World's Tree. Loki's expertise.

And Frigga's. The two had been utterly alike in that regard. Equally brilliant in the ways of seidr and the means by which everything in existence was sustained and kept from crumbling into nothing. Seeing reality from a platform he would never be able to stand on.

But he _does_ have memories. He has tried to understand.

Thor looks at Jane, watches her give an encouraging smile, and sighs again. "Okay. I will tell you only one, and it will be short."

Jane nods, leaning back. "It's enough."

* * *

 ** _Bruce Banner_**

Bruce draws what's in his head. Often times what ends up on paper is unintelligible to anyone else. Sometimes Tony gets it, but usually it's even too far out into left field for even his genius inventor friend to pin it down.

Still. He has to get it out before it disappears. He's found that if the Hulk decides to make an unexpected appearance, he sometimes loses his train of thought in the midst of it. It's a rare occurrence, to be sure, since he's almost perfected his control over his beastly alter-ego, but sometimes he slips up.

"Whatcha workin' on, Brucie?"

Tony saunters into their shared lab space, coffee in hand, scorch marks covering the left side of his sweat-soaked shirt. Bruce just shakes his head. "Did you blow everything up again?"

The engineer waves dismissively. "Dummy's got it covered." He blinks. "Literally. It's all covered in fire retardant. I can't do a thing."

Bruce laughs, still shaking his head. "So what… you've come down to blow up my stuff now?"

Tony looks offended. "Of course not."

They fall into their usual, companionable silence in which Bruce continues to scratch out equations and particle conversions while Tony tries to decipher it all through a caffeine haze using a brain that's hard-wired to process whatever the heck he'd been working on and nothing else.

Still. Bruce lets him try just so that he can give his over-worked jaw a rest. The man is a good friend, but he talks way too much.

"Your math's wrong."

Bruce blinks. "Tony. My math is fine."

The other man takes another slurpy gulp of his precious coffee and shakes his head, jabbing a finger down on his notebook. "Right here. See. This… what is this thing? Some puffed up gluon on steroids?" Bruce takes a breath while Tony gives a little shake of his head. "Whatever it is, your conversion rate is off."

"Tony."

"What?"

"Go check on Dummy."

Tony arches a single singed brow at him. The man's hair is flying in every direction and for a moment Bruce thinks he is staring at some twisted, smarter version of the Mad Hatter. Without a hat, but nonetheless…

"You're kicking me out? Because I'm trying to help? Seriously?" When Bruce says nothing, Tony shrugs. "Fine. Whatever. But your puffy gluons aren't doing their job right according to your pigeon scratch sketch. Check the math Brucie."

Bruce sighs and waits until the man is safely out of the door before he returns to his work. He studies his calculations through narrowed eyes and then snorts out a laugh. Shaking his head once more, Bruce scratches out some numbers and scribbles down some new ones. Tony may not be able to tell a gluon from a pion, but the man certainly knows his math. Bruce does too, but he still makes the occasional mistake.

But Tony doesn't need to know that.

* * *

 ** _Anthony Edward Stark_**

Tony learned how to draw a long time ago, but not in the traditional sense. Inventors are rarely confused for artists and he is no exception. He draws what's in his head, puts pen to paper and makes the imaginary real. Back home, he uses his own hologram tech to do this, but here he's a bit… limited.

Or so they'd like to think. Restricted to the materials they provide for him and nothing else. Bound by a promise he never made to make a weapon he's beginning to wish he'd never invented.

The Jericho.

Whatever.

Because he doesn't want to be included in the collective of poor, miserable human beings to have been drowned after being repeatedly dunked in a little water, he begins to work on something. Anything to make them think he's broken (which he kinda sorta _is_ , but he didn't exactly shatter the way they wanted him to).

He draws this one in pieces, sketches it in soft lead on actual paper laid out on a cold, marred, filthy surface. This is the worst lab he's ever worked in. Tony doesn't care. Yinsen comes over and stares down at the piece of paper in obvious confusion. "What is it?"

There are at least half a dozen sketches lying in a cockeyed pile that he straightens out and proceeds to flatten into a single, uniform design. What comes together is a menacing portrait of his shattered psyche's second creation. A weapon to end all weapons. Irony abounds and he loves it (perhaps he's gone a _little_ insane).

"It's our ticket out of here." And it is… but it's also more than that. This design is rudimentary. Basic. The first of many, many more.

His newly acquired friend (his fifth, if he's counting right) just stares. "Impressive."

It _is_ impressive, but not just because it's a drawing. A talented pre-teen could have drawn it. But Tony's never been confused for an artist; he's an _inventor_. His drawings come to _life_.

They don't waste time admiring the two-dimensional pieces.


	2. Chess

**_Captain Steve Rogers_**

He prefers to win with pawns, just to show that every piece is important. Inevitably, it never works. It's a shame that his gift for strategy doesn't translate to the chess board, but it's not a surprise either. At least not to him.

"Sheesh, Cap," Barton snarks as he knocks Steve's king over with one of his bishops. Both remain on the board and that isn't a surprise either. "You really do suck at this."

He shoots the archer a lighthearted glare. "Yeah well… guess chess isn't really my thing."

Barton laughs as he begins to clean up. "No kidding. Maybe you should stick to tic-tac-toe or Connect Four."

They continue to banter back and forth and Steve adds it to the list of things he doesn't want to forget. He's never had a thing for chess, but he's _always_ had a thing for people.

* * *

 ** _Clint Barton_**

He's good at chess. _Very_ good. Clint wins more than he loses, but he doesn't make a show of it. He brushes it off as if it's unimportant or as if him winning is nothing impressive. Even when he wins again and again and _again._ Everyone notices, but he still plays it down.

They appreciate it.

Eventually, Thor asks him why he wins so much. Clint only shrugs. "Angles. Anticipation. I know how to use the pieces." _Nothing impressive_ , his shrug says.

But Thor is newly impressed by this human. Not his chess-playing abilities, necessarily. His own brother is just as good. Thor is more impressed when Clint's answer provides new insight into his _combat_ abilities.

 _Angles. Anticipation. I know how to use the pieces._

Or arrows, rather. Thor watches Barton choose the right arrows, anticipate where targets are going to be and instinctively calculate angles within a couple of seconds to a startling degree of success. In the end, when they've had their victory shawarma and have dispersed, Thor clasps Clint's hand in his own. "Well fought today, Barton."

Clint shrugs.

* * *

 ** _Natasha Romanoff_**

She despises chess.

"It's just a game, princess," Stark tells her as he sets up the pieces. "Come on. Just once."

He has the grace to move on to someone else when she shoots him a withering look. Apparently he values his life at least a little bit.

At least until a week later: "Come _on…_ " He draws it out, as if her not playing causes him physical pain. "You are Arachnis Deathicus, all-pro fighting machine. Surely one game of chess isn't going to kill you."

Curse him and his need to turn everything into a joke. "Stark, if you ask one more time I _will_ break a limb. Or two. I haven't decided yet."

The idiot just raises his brows and smirks. "I'll even play nice. Let you win the first one."

A second later, she's gripping his arm with the intent to make good on her promise, but he manages to freeze her in place when he drops the smirk and lets her see the serious expression beneath. "Stark…"

His eyes flick to her vice-like grip and then back to her face. "That's not your life anymore. I _get_ you. I really do. It took me _years_ to stop being an egotistical moron – no comments, please – and a few months longer to stop being used by a man I trusted with my life. Actually still working on the moron thing…" He pauses. Looks away. "I still won't get in a pool. Or a bathtub. Only showers."

She only stares, baffled that of the four who know next to nothing about her _he's_ the one to all of a sudden see right through her.

Stark sighs and helplessly gestures with his free hand towards the chess board. "I'm just trying to help. In my own stupid way."

She frees his arm. "It's not stupid."

But she still doesn't play.

* * *

 ** _Thor Odinson_**

"That pawn will rue the day it slew my queen. There will be vengeance!" Thor declares, pounding the table with his massive fist.

Clint tries to be subtle when he leans back, but he obviously isn't subtle enough. "Fear not, Legolas. Thor is declaring his wrath against your pawn, not yourself," Stark quips from the bar behind them. "And honestly Thor… _really_? You let him kill off your queen with a _pawn_?"

Thor is glaring at the board. "I did not see it coming," he mutters.

"Yeah, okay," Stark says with an eye roll. "You should work on that. The whole 'see stuff coming' thing. It could be useful."

"It is just a game, Man of Iron," Thor retorts. "Were this an actual war, it would be different."

They drop it, mainly because they all know he's right. Thor is an entirely different beast when it comes to battles and wars and settling disagreements militarily. This is chess, though, and so right now he's getting beaten.

Badly.

He literally has five pieces left and all he's managed to do is take out two of Friend Barton's pawns. "I do not like this," he states.

"What?" Clint asks, smiling. "Chess? Or being thoroughly dominated by a mere mortal?"

Thor's fingers twitch open and both men hear a metallic whistling sound. When they realize what it is, it's too late.

"Wait!" Stark tries. "Thor! Not in the tower –" The billionaire ducks just in time and Mjolnir thwacks into Thor's hand. One second later, the chess board is in ruins along with the table it sat on and both men are staring at a grinning Thor. Barton looks to be on the verge of laughing, but Stark just looks resigned. Finally, he sighs. "Whatever… J?"

"Yes, sir?"

The man stars at the pulverized table, pieces of which are literally embedded into his floor. "Can you take care of this? Call some people?" he mutters.

"Already done, sir. Would you like another board?"

Stark's expression flattens out. "How many are left?"

"Six, sir."

The other two snap. Clint's laugh is a gut-busting giggle and Thor just lets loose with a booming shout, "Another!"

Tony shakes his head and walks out.

* * *

 ** _Bruce Banner_**

He only plays with certain people. Nat won't play at all, so his list consists of only two others: Tony and Jarvis. The AI only talks about the game, so Bruce goes to him when he doesn't want to talk about anything else.

Tony's completely different.

Bruce already has the board set up. It's a surprisingly wind-free day, so he's outside on the roof. The skyline is hazy, as usual, but he finds the view relaxing. His mind's been playing games with him today, so he needs something less chaotic. Calm. Trigger-free.

"I've got fruit snacks!"

Bruce smiles. "How many?"

Tony shuts the door behind him and strolls over, shooting him an exasperated look. "Two boxes, of course. You don't expect us to _share_ , do you?" As he takes a seat, he sets down two boxes of Motts fruit snacks. Without preamble, he moves a pawn forward.

One space, not two.

Bruce's smile shrinks. There will be no punches pulled this time. "Tony…"

"Shut up." The sound of cardboard tearing slices through the city noise and makes him cringe. Tony dumps the box onto Bruce's side of the table. "We're not leaving 'til one of us wins, so get comfortable."

"Tony, I can't. Not this time."

Dark, scar-riddled eyes catch him and pin him in place. "Then why are you up here, huh?"

Bruce frowns. "I needed the space…"

"Bullcrap. Bag of cats is what's up, so we're gonna talk. Now spill."

 _Bag of cats._ He winces and moves his knight.

* * *

 ** _Anthony Edward Stark_**

Tony doesn't lose this game. That's not to say that he always wins, but it is to say in a general sort of way that his losing percentage is so small that it really doesn't deserve mentioning. He _almost_ always wins. It's frustrating to those he plays, but he ignores their frustration or at the very least he tries to temper it a bit, draw the game out to lessen the blow (or end it as quickly as possible depending on the opponent).

He anticipates like no one else. There was a time when he tried to explain it to Pepper once, because he thought that maybe _she_ would understand. _"There's a switch in everyone's brain that for the most part gets covered in dust and eventually short-circuits its way into dormancy. It's probably located at some major intersection somewhere… I don't know since I don't study the brain all that much, but I'm pretty sure that whatever this switch is, I don't have one."_

" _You don't have one?"_ she'd asked, single brow arched, expression flat.

" _That intersection is where I operate. Everyone else has blinking lights and orange cones surrounding their dusty switches and mine's been destroyed by the trillions of neurons crossing and recrossing that same intersection."_

" _So what… Tony Stark's brain is functioning at fifty percent while the rest of us get by on ten?"_

Yes, her irritation had been obvious, but he'd dismissed it. _"Don't be silly. That ten percent thing is nutzo."_

" _Stop missing my point."_

But he hadn't missed anything. Even now, it makes him tired to think of it, so he stops. Barton is sitting across from him, eyes darting from piece to piece. The vein throbbing on the side of his head is the only sign that he's flustered. "Your move, Big Bird."

"Shut up, Stark."

"You're stalling. Just pick one and be done with it." He sounds smug and he knows it.

Barton shoots him a nasty look. "Fine."

He ends the game in three more moves. No need to play with the poor guy (though it would totally be justified since Clint's the only one who's beaten him more than once). The archer flicks his king over and leaves.

Pepper had understood. Eventually. No one else seems to. That's not to say that they don't; he just doesn't see evidence that they do. He doesn't blame them. There was a time (a while ago) when he actually used to care whether or not others understood where he was coming from. Now he doesn't see the point in waiting for them to catch up. Or veer off to where he's at. His pride used to think that they needed to catch up, but eventually he began to understand _himself_ (yes, it took him a while too…) and discovered that it wasn't a matter of catching up. It was a matter of figuring out where he'd ended up and how he'd gotten there.

In the end, it technically _is_ a matter of catching up, because his brain typically operates in a place decades into the future. But he is still standing here, in the present, with everyone else. It's complicated.

Perhaps if they pay more attention to _how_ he wins this game all the time instead of growing angry at the inevitable result, they would get a taste of how his brain works. Just a glimpse. Something to spark their curiosity.

Tony's deep in thought, staring out of a window while his off-kilter, slightly whacked brain collapses into a wallowing pity party, when he hears someone sit down and shift pieces back into place. He turns to see who it is and blinks a few times to clear his head.

It's Steve Rogers.

 _Okay…_

"Clint said maybe someone who's really bad at this game might be able to catch you off guard. I told him it was pointless, but he insisted."

Tony has to smile just a little. "It _is_ pointless. You sure you have nothing better to do? No kids to train, kittens to save, or spangly onesies that need ironed?"

Gentle blue eyes meet his gaze squarely. "Nope. You're stuck with me, Stark. White or black?"

Tony frowns. "Black."

"You always choose white."

"I'm in a mood."

"Okay."

Steve loses in four turns. Tony doesn't bother to take any other pieces. Just the king. It's possibly his cleanest win to date.

"No casualties, huh?" Steve observes with a small smile, strong hands quickly resetting the board.

Tony's frown remains as he skewers the super-soldier with a _look_. "I'm a neat freak."

"Is that why your lab looks like a bomb went off?"

"I'm a selective neat freak… why are you _really_ here?" He wants, _needs_ , to know. This isn't normal, but he's not going to let the Captain know that he really _did_ catch him off guard.

Steve's smile grows. "Clint wants to know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"See things before they happen."

Tony leans back and flicks a few fingers dismissively. "Legilimency."

Steve is instantly confused. "Le-what?"

"It's a wizard thing. You wouldn't understand."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Stark. I'm trying to get to know you, here. There's a reason you like this game so much."

He smirks. "Ah, so there it is. Captain America wants to become best friends with the resident genius. What if I say no?"

"You're a _selective_ genius, Stark," Steve replies, seemingly oblivious to the jagged edge beneath Tony's sarcasm. "I'm not here to dispute your engineering abilities or your math skills or your ability to connect dots and understand systems and problems and computer algorithm things. God knows your miles ahead of the rest of us when it comes to that stuff." Cap meets his eyes again and smiles. "But you're an idiot when it comes to people."

Tony stares at him for a good long moment before glancing at the board. He sniffs and twists it around so that he's white again. "I know that." Steve's confident smile disappears. Tony notices when he looks up again. "Pepper tells me enough."

"So you know, but you don't do anything about it."

Tony's smile, when it appears, is forced. "I'm trying."

Steve stares at the billionaire, assesses the pained look in his dark eyes and the tight smile, and nods. "Okay then." He looks down at the board. "It's your move."

Tony rolls his eyes, reaching for a pawn. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

He wins in fourteen turns this time only because he's feeling a little nicer. And because he can. Win in fourteen moves, that is (he likes the challenge of aiming for a certain number). Tony's a whiz at chess.

But he's crap with people.


End file.
